To Really Free One's Self
by Sull89
Summary: Jean/Roy. Finally free from prison, Kimbley decides to visit and old "friend" and ruin the life he had build for himself. // Non-explicit non-con sexual scenes and blood play.
1. In Which Blood Is Drawn

Kimbley had been reveling in his newfound freedom, taking advantage of everything it allowed him to have that he couldn't get his hands on while in prison; namely fine food and fine women (and men.) He took what he wanted, when he wanted it, without concern for what the consequences might be because after all, he was a criminal and he was always a firm believer of the saying "once a criminal, always a criminal."

Striding the streets of Central without a care in the world, one particular thought kept surfacing to the front of his mind, and eventually he voiced it aloud to himself, "Why is it that some criminals are allowed to go free and act as though they never were one to begin with while the rest of us are locked away for committing the same damn crime?" He licked his lower lip slowly as he thought on that, and eventually one particular criminal filled his thoughts: Roy Mustang.

"Roy Mustang…"

The name tasted almost foreign on his lips; even though he'd thought about the man over and over since the war and his incarceration he'd never spoken it aloud since his sentence started. For some reason he felt that would be tantamount to hearsay to even whisper the name of the feared and _free_ Flame Alchemist, but now that he was free as well… Things were a little different.

A sudden smirk covered Kimbley's features, "That's right, things are different now." As though someone had flipped a switch inside his brain that had given him a one track mind with absolutely no room for interruptions, the deranged alchemist was suddenly and completely focused on the raven haired man whose name had just left his lips. His voice was haunting as it echoed through the empty streets through which he walked, "I think it's time I paid him a visit."

--

Roy Mustang and Jean Havoc had been together for quite a while now; at first the relationship had started only because Roy needed some comfort after the death of his best friend and former lover, but then as time went on it grew into something special of its own. The two men were happy now, even if they had to keep their love for one another to themselves; it didn't matter if other people knew anyway, only that they did.

They shared a small apartment and rented out the one next to it. It was easy enough, when one of them was a State Alchemist, to afford both places in an effort to protect themselves from prying eyes and prying minds. It was rather nice, anyway, because the other apartment offered them ample storage space for Roy's myriad collection of alchemy texts and Jean's surprisingly large collection of firearms.

All that being beside the point, the two men led a comfortable, relaxed life, taking joy in the small things; the scent of the other right after a shower, the quick brush of a coarse white glove over callused fingers while in public, or the soft touch of thin lips while resting in bed. It was still a difficult and dangerous time in Central, but with one another, things somehow got a little better.

Things were finally looking up for the Flame Alchemist and he planned on doing everything he could to keep it that way. He never once expected that the man who did so much to hurt him in Ishbal would be back to hurt him again, (After all, he was supposed to be dead.) so when he suddenly reappeared, holding the man Roy loved captive, he could have sworn he felt the world drop out from under him.

--

Kimbley had spent weeks stalking Mustang's home after using a poor, unsuspecting guard at HQ to weasel the location from before making him into a ticking time bomb. He purred in pleasure at the memory even now, weeks later; after all, it had been his first man made explosion since he had gotten out of prison and did it ever feel good.

The empty apartment right next to the one Mustang occupied proved to be invaluable. Once Kimbley finally managed to sneak into it, not only did it give him the perfect vantage point from which to spy on the raven haired man but it also afforded him with a comfortable place to sleep and allowed him to rest content, knowing his victim was right on the other side of the wall and could be accessed at any time.

Concocting his plan of revenge daily, adding more and more details to it as he learned of the ways of the man ensconced in what he thought was the safety of his own home, Kimbley couldn't help but laugh and laugh some more; Flame had another lover and he would be just as content to use this new one against him as he had the old one in Ishbal.

Finally, about a month after he had been freed from his prison cell, Kimbley had one of his finest plans ever ready to be put into play. Mustang and the new kid, Havoc, wouldn't have any clue to what was happening until it was already too late and by then Kimbley would be reveling in another successful venture of pain and misery. Now, he just needed the infuriating alchemist to leave his new toy alone for longer than five minutes.

It was another eleven days before it finally happened; Mustang went to work and Havoc stayed home; sick or something, apparently. Kimbley didn't care what the reason was, only that it suited him perfectly and now he had the best opportunity to let himself back into Mustang's life without a hitch. An evil grin covered his face as he gently kissed the array tattooed to his right palm, then stepped outside his hiding place and burst into the apartment Havoc now resided in alone.

The blonde lieutenant didn't even have the foggiest idea that someone was in the house with him until it was too late; his sinuses were plugged up and his head hurt, so neither his senses nor his reaction times were all that good. When a strong but cold pair of hands yanked him from the couch and out of his cocoon of blankets, he just managed to register the sensation before he found himself pressed up against the wall.

"So you're the newest little thing to catch Flame's attention…" The voice, as it threaded its way though Havoc's ear canal, made him shiver. It was cold, slimy, and chilling, and right now Jean would have given anything to get away from it as it spoke again and he felt a disgustingly warm tongue trace its way up the edge of his ear, "I'll put you to good use then, Havoc."

Those words finally allowing him to gather himself together in spite of the pall that his cold left around his mind, Jean launched himself forward, struggling against the hold on him as hard as he could. Straining against the hand gripping his arm, he almost succeeded in breaking free, but then a burst of light half blinded him and suddenly he found that something cold and unmovable was pinning his ankles to the wall.

As he lurched forward, trying to catch his balance, another hand came up and slammed into his chest, shoving him back against the wall and making his head spin for a moment. Another flash of light followed and in mere moments, he realized his hands we captured against the wall as well. Fear suddenly thudded through his chest; he was helpless at the hands of an alchemist he didn't know and for some unknown reason, this had to do with Roy.

Just that was enough to fill him with dread; Roy had plenty of enemies, none of them very kind. Whipping his head up suddenly and struggling against the bonds holding him down, Jean finally managed to look into the face of his captor, and what he saw when he did literally made his heart stop for a moment, "You're supposed to be dead…"

Kimbley laughed, patting Jean's cheek in a sick parody of companionship, "Ah, well, as you can see, I'm not." A smirk crossed his face now, evil in every way possible, "Lucky for me, but not so much for you." With that, he reached out, sliding a knife under Havoc's shirt and pulling up, slicing the fabric clean through the front as he drew a thin but bloody line over Jean's stomach and chest.


	2. To Make True Art

Grunting at the sudden pain that flared through his body, Havoc pressed back into the wall, trying to get away from the knife to no avail. He was scared, there was no getting around that, and this was worse that he had first thought it would be. Kimbley was supposed to be dead, he was supposed to have been executed years ago, and he most definitely wasn't supposed to be standing here now with a knife pressed against his captive's skin.

Havoc wanted to struggle, but the knife point now resting against the left side of his chest made him pause. Watching the man in front of him with slightly panicked eyes, Havoc had to wonder just exactly what he had planned; whatever it was it couldn't be good and Jean was desperately thinking of a way, any way, to get out of it.

His frantic thoughts were cut off, though, when he felt the knife point trace around one of his exposed nipples. A few whispered words found their way to his ears now and he shuddered again, the mix of cold metal and even colder words worrying him to no end, "We're gonna have some fun today, Havoc."

His name on Kimbley's lips was slimy, slick with distaste and possible hatred, even though Jean couldn't quite figure out why; he'd never done anything to the man. That bit of information 

seemed not to mean anything to the crazed alchemist though, because he was currently engaged in tracing that knife over and around Havoc's chest and the blonde lieutenant could feel how close it was to breaking skin; so close that he didn't even dare to breathe properly.

This, too, seemed to only amuse Kimbley all the more and lead him to press harder, until the man under his control almost tried to stop breathing all together, his chest and body sucked in and pressed hard against the wall behind them. Holding the knifepoint against quivering flesh, the black haired man just smirked and waited, meeting Havoc's frantic eyes with his own crazed gaze, "You're going to have to breathe sometime."

Even though he knew Kimbley was right, Jean still figured he could try to avoid breathing and save himself the pain of being cut. That plan lasted for only a few more seconds though, because on top of being terrified and helpless, he was also sick; his body was already hurt and it didn't feel like letting him deprive it of oxygen any longer. Just as soon as he drew in a much needed breath of air it escaped him again, this time in the form of a painful cry as that lethally sharp knife bit into his tender skin again.

"Mhmmm," the sound of pleasure was raw and animalistic as it left Kimbley's throat; the sight of dark red blood welling up around the tip of the blade was obviously turning him on, "perfect…" As though he was an artist, studying his canvas intently before applying another stroke with his paintbrush, Kimbley watched the rise and fall of Havoc's trembling chest for a moment before moving on, tracing the soft curves his blood made as it flowed over the peaks and valleys of his skin.

But, just as the artist, Kimbley had more to add to the formerly pristine canvas in front of him. Giving the younger man just a moment more to realize what was about to happen to him, Kimbley smirked into his face, voice a deathly whisper as he spoke, "I'm going to paint you red just as I did your boyfriend all those years ago."

Slowly moving the knife down now, Kimbley flicked it over Jean's crotch, letting the tip rest against his most sensitive organ, "He got away before I could finish. You, my friend, won't be so lucky." Pausing just long enough to savor the look of panicked fear and confusion that flashed across his victim's face, Kimbley smirked before yanking the blade up hard, scoring a long gash though the front of Jean's pants and letting them sink low around his hips, knowing that they're just about ready to fall off.

It was a promise of things to come, and Jean knew it, shivering as Kimbely's demon voice echoed through the room, "But we'll save the real fun for later." Try as he might, Jean couldn't take his eyes off the shining metal as it lazily traced its way back up his skin. It captivated him even though he wanted nothing more than to escape it; an exact replica of Kimbley. Now all he could do was sit back and hang on for the ride, but he had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that it might be the last ride he ever took.

Jean knew that it would only be moments before that tempered steel dug into his flesh again. Everything about Kimbley told him that he was not a patient man, nor was he much inclined to allow his toys much time in between cuts and bruises to recover. With a sharp gasp and an 

involuntary lurch forward, Jean bit his lip against the shock of pain that ran through his body as he was proved right – there was now a matching rivulet of blood running down his chest, intertwining with the first somewhere around his belly button, streaking his skin red.

With that second mark, Kimbley seemed to go insane. Suddenly, Jean found it almost impossible to breathe as the knife dug into his skin so rapidly that all it seemed he could do was cry out. Eventually, those cries turned to screams as his flesh turned into tatters and his pale skin grew even redder with his own life pouring out over it. Kimbley was sadistic in his pleasures and drew great happiness from seeing how his poor defenseless plaything writhed and twisted under his ministrations with the blade.

Even though every slice of the blade into his tender skin felt like eternity to Jean, it was in reality only a matter of minutes before Kimbley had, with a sinister smirk, finished with his canvas. His shining red paint had expanded to cover that precious white space almost everywhere, which quite fit his satisfaction. Kimbley was fascinated, for a moment, by watching how the cuts that now marred the once pristine field of his work diverted the flow of blood from the paths they would have liked to take.

It was beautiful, his art. It flowed so well through the rivulets and chisels in the military man's body, glinted off his skin in a sickened parody of glitter. Havoc's quivering chest and pained gasps only helped to enhance the utter beastly beauty of it, causing the delicate red droplets to tremble and shake along with him and pause along their route when his breathing did the same. Almost in awe of what he created, Kimbley stood there, soaking in the glory of blood, open wounds, and marred human flesh.

With an evil grin taking over his lips, he finally moved his eyes back to Jean's face, and the evil there shook the blonde to his very core, "Just the way you should be." The searing pain that ran though Jean's entire body was almost crippling, but what scared him was that he knew this wasn't the end of it. The cuts Kimbley decorated him with weren't that deep; they were deep enough, to be sure, but not so much as to be fatal.

This was done with preciseness on his captor's part, that much Jean knew without a doubt. It meant that he wanted to keep him alive, and more than that, conscious, for a while longer. Nothing good could come from Kimbley wanting him to remain conscious and Havoc shook with the fear of what else he might have planned. The specific reference to his crotch was something the captive man was specifically trying not to think about; whatever Kimbley had planned for him there was something to be terrified of, that was for sure.

The sudden touch of cold hands on his hips roused Jean from his frantic whirl of thoughts. Without thinking about it he tried to jerk away from the clammy grip those hands had on him, but his back was already pressed against the wall; he has absolutely nowhere to go and no way to stop whatever it was Kimbley was going to do next.

Jean's breath caught in his throat as Kimbley slipped his fingers into the loosened waistband of his trousers and started tugging them down slowly, even as Jean struggled for all he was worth to stop what was happening. Even though there was nothing he could do to control Kimbley's 

actions, Jean felt he had to try something as the evil man finally let his pants drop to the floor, "Stop!"

All he got for his efforts was a painful, stinging slap to the chest.


	3. Nothing More Than A Stage

This chapter is rated a very hard R. There is semi-explicit rape; you've been warned.

* * *

In a matter of moments, Kimbley had Jean divested of his pants and boxers despite the younger's vocal and physical protests. It was laughable, almost, how the poor pathetic kid thought thrashing his hands against the wall and yelling a few scared words at his captor was going to do anything. It was a mere side amusement to Kimbley, actually, the lead in act to a show that will leave both of them with an everlasting memory.

This is the show that Kimbley had been waiting almost a month and a half for; that glorious combination of physical pain, mental anguish, and bodily force that would push him over the edge and into an ocean of ecstasy. Of course, he knew the extravagance and brute, vicious beauty of it would be lost on the boy; some people just don't understand real art when they see it, and Kimbley was ready to unleash the most poetically cruel vengeance he had ever been able to come up with.

It was a rush, and now, he was desperate for that curtain to open and his spectacular plans to come front and center. The stage was set it was finally time for the production to begin. With those delicious thoughts whirling around in his head, Kimbley finally let himself go, pouring out all the rage and anger and spite he had ever felt toward Roy Mustang as he yanked his hand down the other man's soft and most sensitive organ, digging his nails into the tender flesh as he pumped some life into it.

The scream that reached his ears as soon as his hand came in contact with Jean's skin was pure, unadulterated perfection to Kimbley, long starved of any of the real stimulation they craved. After all, the menial and worthless chatter of human beings was something that needed to be stomped out and killed; he had no patience for the so called "intellectual conversation" that so many others found fascinating; he was interested in something much more primal.

What he wanted to hear was the true raw emotion, the true pain that lie dormant behind facades of pleasant cheer far, far too often. He wanted to hear the screams and the sobs and the shouts of the tormented souls he liberated from those fake exteriors, listen as they poured their very hearts and minds out to him, all becoming part of the stunning act he put on as he showed them how pure their lives could really be.

So, it was with great pleasure that he allowed his show to begin. Despite what he knew were Jean's best efforts to stop himself from getting hard, his dick was beginning to stiffen under Kimbley's ministrations, nails notwithstanding. He could feel the younger man squirm and twist as he tried to escape, but it was a fruitless endeavor and they both knew it.

This was the first act, the one full of passion and anger as the two main players did their best to outsmart one another. Kimbley knew that in his play, things would go his way, just as they were right now. The would-be hero was already imprisoned, but this time, there would be no helpful friends to help him escape; Roy would be out of the picture for a long while yet.

It was with great satisfaction that Kimbley watched this scene unfold before him, his eyes following the veins and lines that formed Jean as they rose, however unwillingly, to his touch. His plaything still struggled but by now his pained grunts and snarled words were nothing more than the background music playing in accompaniment to the picture that was occurring right before his eyes.

They too drew in everything they could. Starved so long of the beautiful sight of a struggling toy or an unwilling partner, his now full ears gave in and let his eyes drink in the sights he had so long only held in his memory. It was just like the first taste of alcohol, burning his throat after having been denied him for so long; it looked so good it almost hurt. Before long, Kimbley smirked as he sank to his knees; he wanted a better look before he let his lips take over.

By now Jean was more than frantic, pushed past the point of panic into that of terrified, mind-bending state of pure fear. Try as he might, he couldn't stop his body from responding to the touch of the man before him and that in and of itself made him shudder with revulsion; he never wanted Kimbley to even be near him, much less touch him like that.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he did his best to ignore how the man's strange and sickening eyes roamed over him and for a moment, it actually worked. But, when Kimbley's strange, thin lips suddenly slid over his shaft, surrounding him with a wet smack, Jean cried out, almost yanking his shoulder from its socket as he tried to escape whatever it was Kimbley was doing.

Being cut up and covered in blood was one thing; it was something to be expected and could be treated, as long as he made it out alive. But this… this was something so much worse. This was an invasion into his very being, yet there was not a single thing he could do about it. The thing that scared him most, though, was that any time this had happened before, it had been as a sign of mutual affection and love; now it was a terrifying mix of control and hidden agendas and he wanted nothing more than to get away from it.

He did everything he could to ignore what was happening to him, but Kimbley was too good. It was only a matter of moments before he felt something coiling deep in his stomach, a snake of sexual arousal and desire brought to life by the world's most evil and sadistic man. It wasn't that Jean enjoyed what was happening, but the lips that surrounded him were wet and warm and his body, unlike his mind, couldn't tell the difference between the soft, thin, and loving lips of his partner and the cold, hard, evil ones that took him in now.

He did what he could to avoid what he knew was coming, but by now he was solid under the other man's lips and tongue and there was nothing more he could do but clench his fists and try to ignore any fleeting feeling of pleasure that might flutter through his body. It was true that while right now, Kimbley wasn't hurting him physically, the mental scars left would run deep. 

On top of that, this fake act of love and devotion only meant that when Kimbley felt it was time to pleasure himself, things would hurt that much more.

Sadly enough, the time when Jean found out that his assumptions were true came all too soon. Kimbley sucked and nibbled and tongued at him in a manner that strongly suggested he had gotten plenty of recent practice and before long, Jean could feel the warm, fuzzy coil of orgasm building higher and higher, peaking in a cry of strangled pleasure before throwing him over the edge.

Kimbley smirked around the cock between his lips as the sticky white fluid that resided within it finally spilled into his waiting mouth. Swallowing with ease, he waited until the other man was drained before pulling away and rocking back onto his heels, smirking up at his victim as he licked a few salty liquid drops from his lips, "And we've only just finished act one…"

Now that his mouth, just as his ears and eyes before, had finally gotten to taste the long denied and long awaited sin that had just released itself down his throat, he was ready to satisfy the other part of him that screamed for a release of its own. It was with languid ease that he rose to his feet, taking his time as though he had all he could ever want.

And have all he could ever want he did; after all, on the stage, time froze.


	4. Prey

Explicit depictions of rape.

* * *

Everything that had happened up to this point left Jean in a whirlwind; he had no idea what to expect from his captor now. One thing was clear though: the man was clinically insane. His orgasm had left him disoriented and lethargic, not to mention confused. The very fact that he had allowed the maniac to do what he did made Jean want to vomit; he despised the touch of those cold clammy hands more than he could really even express to himself.

Up to this point, Kimbley had terrified him, but now… the look of anticipation on his face made Jean wish he could die to escape whatever he had planned. He was desperate for Roy to come home, to save him from this, but a quick glance to the clock let him know that there were hours between this moment and when Roy finished at work. He has been so insistent on staying home this morning too; now more than ever, Jean regretted making his boss actually work.

Suddenly, a chilling voice filled his body, snapping his panicked eyes back to the face grinning in his, "I have you to myself for hours yet, dear Jean." That grin… it sickened him more than any smirk or sneer could ever do; it showed how much his captor was enjoying this. Mustering up his courage, Jean spit into that face, doing what very little he could to deter Kimbley. All he got in return was the sound of that chilling voice caressing his ears again before it laughed, "You pretty little boyfriend won't be here to save you."

With that, Kimbley finally grew sick of playing with his prey; he was ready to pounce now and take his prize. Still grinning at Jean, Kimbley touched the wall, withdrawing the cuffs that had, 

until this point, kept him pinned to the wall. The kicking, screaming flailing that ensued as soon as he did was nothing more than a petty amusement to him, much less an annoyance."Delightful, really..." He trailed his fingers along Jean's waist, watching the spectacular movement of his legs, "That you think this flailing about like a child is going to get you anywhere."

He pressed himself in tight against his writhing prey. He could feel every movement of Jean's muscles as the boy struggled and, also to his delight, found the sensations to be delicious on every sensory level imaginable. This was the climax of what his carefully planned, artistically developed play had been building up to since the day he discovered where Roy Mustang lived and he was so, so ecstatic to finally be able to bring all his plans to fruition.

With thoughts of intangible yet oh so real revenge planted firmly in his head, Kimbley finally pounced, his movements as graceful and lethal as the lioness on her hunt. It took no more than a quick twist and snap, aided with a little alchemy, and suddenly Jean was screaming in pain, the sound so loud that for a moment, it stunned Kimbley.

He couldn't help but to allow himself a real, genuine smile; his pray was completely incapacitated now, unable to flee no matter what happened. Leaning in, he pressed his lips tight against the screaming man's, kissing him violently as he touched the wall again, pulling the cuffs back from Jean's wrists. Now that his full weight was resting on his legs, Jean screamed again but Kimbley never moved his lips, drinking the sound in as though it was an elixir, letting it fill him with life.

He allowed himself that rare pleasure for a few more moments before stepping back, letting the now freed man crumple to the ground. Surveying the scene in front of his for a moment, he hid a smirk as he crouched down, hovering over Jean, "Nasty break, that one…" Reaching out with a finger, he let the calloused pad brush over the bone spur sticking out of Jean's leg, "Looks like it hurt…"

Jean hissed in pain as Kimbley touched him. He was pure white and already felt like he could pass out; the military had trained him to make it through pain, but they'd never inflicted pain like this on him. His lungs, already weakened by how sick he was, felt about ready to collapse as they worked triple time; it was hard to breathe and he couldn't manage to stop hyperventilating.

Now that he was free of his restraints he knew he should fight back or flee, but what Kimbley had done to his leg was making both options impossible. He did try, vainly, to crawl away on his arms, but Kimbley grabbed him before he could even get a foot. Struggling, he did manage to catch his captor's cheek with a glancing blow from his fist, but it was only a matter of moments before Kimbley pinned him to the floor, both his wrists in one hand, "Stop it, pretty boy, before I break these too."

He loved this feeling; the one of being in absolute control, watching his prey struggle under him as their eyes shone with the fear of their impending death. To watch Jean do so was spectacular, especially when he thought of how Mustang would take to the same thing. He would suck the blood from the creature beneath him in a matter of moments and the victory, well… it was almost overpowering.

First he would gut the poor man, tear into him and take his most vital and important things. That was what he wanted now, and it was what he was going to get. With precision born of obsession and practice, Kimbley yanked Jean's pants off him completely, exposing him. Rock hard and throbbing for release, Kimbley ached within his own pants; he'd been like this pretty much since everything started.

But now… now was the time to break the spirit of the man sprawled out and helpless in front of him, just as an antelope fell to the fierce cats of the wild. Freeing himself in a matter of moments, Kimbley growled in primal pleasure as his own hand brushed over his cock for a moment before they both settled around Jean's hips, pulling the innocent yet guilty man in closer to him, "Roy Mustang was a bad choice, my friend."

With those words, Kimbley finally allowed himself release and, with utterly no regard for the searing pain this would cause his prey, shoved his un-lubed cock deep inside the other man's ass, taking his own bit of pain along with the immense pleasure that came of such a harsh and brutal entry. Jean's sharp scream hardly even registered; it felt like he had waited his entire life for this moment, and now that it was here he could barely breathe, much less think or focus on outside stimuli.

The clench of warm, tense muscle wrapped so unwillingly around him was pure, unadulterated bliss and if Kimbley had actually believed in such bullshit as heaven, he imagined that this would have to be what it felt like. Never before had rape felt so good and he knew that it never would again. So he took a moment to savor what he felt, to breathe it all in so he would always be able to remember this moment.

Jean was in absolute agony. The pain of such a rough and dry insertion was enough to take his breath away completely and he had yet to really regain it. Tears stung his eyes even though he tried so hard not to let them, but by now he was about out of the ability to cope any longer; he just wanted all this to end one way or another.

Kimbley could only imagine how his human toy must be feeling. He knew that the man wasn't enjoying it; that's one of the reasons it got him off so well. It was simple, really; Kimbley reveled in being the cause of pain and suffering. The more people he could hurt at once the better, and now… now he was able to hurt Mustang in a way more personal than he had ever dreamed; this was what he had yearned for ever since Ishbal.

With one last thought swirling around his mind, he smirked and pulled back, almost removing himself from Jean only to shove back in, his fingernails digging sharply into the man's hips as he started to pump him hard and fast and as violently as humanly possible. The mix of burning friction and pure ecstasy filled his entire being; this was what his life was meant for.

Throwing to the wind any bit of restraint he had left, Kimbley let himself go with wild abandon, fucking Jean so hard he bled. It didn't take long for him to reach the brink of orgasm and as he imagined the look on Roy's face as he walked home to find his lover so broken and hurt, he finally came, shooting deep inside the man who did nothing to deserve this but love the wrong person.


	5. Complete

It took every last bit of Jean's resolve not to throw up when Kimbley slammed into him: he could barely breathe and his entire body felt like it was on fire; retching would only have made his situation worse. Clamping his eyes shut and trying to focus on something else, Jean almost thought he had succeeded in fending off his sickness, but then he felt Kimbley's sickeningly warm seed spill into him.

It was then that the bile in his throat overtook him, choking him for a moment before he was able to throw up, the unsettling and unnatural warmth now residing inside him too much for his body to handle. It seemed as though every bit of him hurt and what had just happened only made that feeling multiply more times than he could even begin to count. Never in his life had he been so utterly violated and right now, Jean really didn't know how to deal with it.

Kimbley, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was doing. Smirking like there would be no tomorrow, he slowly freed himself from the tight, blissfully warm confines of Jean's ass, before tucking himself away with a self-satisfied chuckle, "It was good, Havoc. Real good." Leaning down now, he took the broken and battered younger man's chin in his firm grip, meeting his eyes as he spoke, "I do hope you enjoyed it too."

When Jean spit at him weakly, all Kimbley did was laugh. This poor pathetic creature really thought that would make any difference? The first part of his carefully laid out revenge had just gone over without a glitch, a little spit wasn't going to ruin that. Filled with content, Kimbley leaned in now and without warning, pressed his lips in tight to Jean's, kissing him passionately before the other man could stop him.

Jean tried to break that sick kiss, tried to bite and hurt the freak that had done so much to hurt him, but he was so weak that his struggles, by and large, went unnoticed. It wasn't until Kimbley pulled back of his own free will that Jean was able to spit again, this time on the floor to rid himself of the foul taste that coated his lips and tongue. He just wanted this all to be over, one way or another.

Sensing that his prey was almost at the breaking point, Kimbley's smirk grew wider; his timing was utterly perfect. He would leave now, give the damned Flame Alchemist time to nurse his little lover back to health and vow to protect him, then return to take it all away again. Kimbley wanted nothing more than to show the rest of the world what a lying, worthless piece of scum Roy Mustang was and no matter what that took, he would see to it that it was done.

Everything was proceeding so perfectly… He couldn't wait to put his next step into play; hearing the fear he was about to put into Mustang's voice would be the perfect end to this day. Grabbing the phone off the nearby counter, he grinned and watched Jean's face as he slowly dialed in the 

number for Central Headquarters, waiting in barely concealed joy to be connected to Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist. In a matter of moments, his patience paid off, as the gruff voice of his old enemy and lover filled his ears, introducing himself in a no-nonsense manner, "Colonel Mustang."

Reaching out now, he stroked Jean's hair, his lips curling into a sinister smirk as he spoke, "Well well… you're a brownnosing colonel now, hm Roy? Must say, that's quite the leap in rank from the poor, suicidal major you were in Ishbal." Kimbley paused for just a moment, to make sure Roy knew who was talking to him, and then continued on, "You've upgraded your life, I see. Nice home, nice neighborhood… nice new boyfriend…"

Kimbley laughed now, the most sinister, evil sound imaginable escaping him, "I tried him out, and I gotta say; I think you did better with me." Without waiting for a response, the mental mass murderer let the phone fall back onto the receiver, the frozen, unbelieving silence and hitch in even breaths he heard from the other end of the line enough to sate him for the moment. Life was, indeed, good.

It was in a nonchalant wave that he flicked his fingers at Jean, grinning at the helpless man as he walked out of the small home, "Don't worry, Havoc, I'll be back to have some more fun with you later."

* * *

Part one of "To Really Free One's Self" is now complete.  
To all my anonymous reviewers, whom I don't get a chance to thank through a PM, (which is all of you, so far) thank you for reading and reviewing, your reviews and comments really help me keep writing. I hope you've enjoyed part one and will stick around for the rest of the story!  
Sull


	6. To Make Things Better

He could not believe what just happened. That voice, the sinister, sick and silky way it flowed into his mind, it couldn't be real. It was strange and untrue, everything that had happened in the past minute; he did not just hear what he thought he heard. But, as Roy Mustang felt his heart pound in his chest and discovered an ache growing to spread throughout his body, he knew. The words that echoed over the phone lines were actually spoken, and the man that uttered them – no, there was no way it could have been him...

It took only seconds for all those thoughts to whirl through his head, and then he was out of there. Without even telling those in his office what had happened or where he was going, he sprinted for the door, all sense of discretion and decorum gone as one thought pounded through his skull; Kimbley, alive somehow, and hurting the one he loved. It couldn't be true.

Leaving behind a shocked and startled group of subordinates, he made it home as fast as he could. Disregarding his usual "passenger-only" mode of transportation, he took to the driver's seat himself, peeling out of HQ without a backwards glance. There would be hell to pay for such rash behavior when he came back, but right now that was the last thing on his mind. Kimbley wasn't supposed to be alive, wasn't even supposed to be alive, much less able to find him and hurt the only person left in his life who cared about him the way he needed to be cared for.

But it had to be Kimbley; who else knew about what had happened between them in Ishbal, how many others knew how suicidal he really had been – that gun had been to his chin more than just 

once. This made no sense, none of it, but in the end Roy knew the truth of it all; Kimbley was alive and well: he was the only one who knew that those few words he spoke would have such a profound effect on the man they were meant for.

His only hope now was to come home and find Jean conscious, or at the very least, alive. He knew that for the moment, Kimbley was too far gone to pursue. But that didn't mean the murderer was in the free and clear, no. Once Roy took care of Jean, once Roy proved to himself that Jean wasn't dead (because he couldn't /be/ dead,) he would find Kimbley, and he would make him pay once and for all for what he did.

The number of traffic violations he committed on the drive to his apartment was much higher than it should have been, but when no one was around to see them that didn't matter. What mattered was getting home. What mattered was taking care of Jean. He would make things better, somehow he would fix Jean (because Jean /had/ to be fixable) and he would find Kimbley and make all this end and this time, it would be final.

But no matter what, he couldn't shake off the dread that fixing things wouldn't be so easy, and that was the one terrified though that echoed in his mind as he finally ran up the steps and burst through the door of his home.

--

Jean was in more pain than he could ever remember being in. Sure, he'd been shot before, sustained shrapnel wounds, been burned by the myriad number of explosive devices the enemies of Amestris had managed to get their hands on, not to mention the wicked calluses and abrasions his own weapons and physical training had thrust upon him, but never in his life had his mind been violated in such a way, been hurt just like his body.

Never before had he had to deal with someone invading the deepest, most private parts of him without his leave. Today, Kimbley had done that twice over: to his body and his mind. The threat of death, real imminent death that he could do absolutely nothing about… for the first time in his life that loomed over his head, dangling him helplessly from Kimbley's barbed wire rope of wishes and whims.

At times, he felt certain that viciously sharp rope would bite deep into his throat. Laying on the floor now, broken and bruised, surrounded by spatters of his own blood and pools of vomit, he wasn't sure that the danger of that had passed yet. The despicable warmth Kimbley spilled into him was still strong enough to feel and Jean would give almost anything to make it all go away. He needed someone, something, desperately, and he needed it now.

The sudden, sharp cry that pierced through his thoughts of loathing and sickness was full of fear, but no voice in the world could have been sweeter, "Jean!" When he heard his name again, uttered from the lips of the one person he knew would never hurt him or let him be hurt, it was all he could do to hold himself together. Jean Havoc was not a weak man, not by any means, but he was still human, and at certain times in a human's life, strength just isn't possible to hold on to.

--

When Jean lifted his head at the sound of his own name, when those piercing and startlingly blue eyes met his own, Roy felt as though he could collapse from relief. He was alive, Jean was alive, things could be okay, they could be, he could make this all better; he would make it better. Rushing to the man on the ground, Roy dropped to his knees beside him, totally not caring about the blood or the vomit that would stain his clothes; what mattered was that Jean was alive.

Taking the younger man tight into his arms, Roy held him to his chest, giving himself just a moment to finally breathe and calm down slightly. He needed to help Jean and he knew he couldn't do it if he was as pumped with as much adrenaline and fear as he had been on the way home. Holding Jean close, feeling his chest move in and out, knowing that meant he was breathing… that was what Roy needed most. "You're alive," over and over, barely audible, that was what Roy kept chanting, a mantra to both himself and Jean.

It took almost all his willpower, but after a moment Roy did pull away. Taking the man he loved gently by the arms, he looked into his eyes, forcing himself not to look away from the haunted cast they now held; he could make it better, he knew he could, "I'm going to take care of you, Jean. I'm going to fix this." Now he gently took the blond man into his arms, being careful not to jostle his obviously broken leg. After lifting him slowly, Roy carried him to the couch, laying him on it as tenderly as he could.

Jean, gritting his teeth, played his part stoically, knowing Roy was doing what he had to in order to fix what had happened. When his broken leg came in contact with the couch a small hiss of strangled pain escaped from between his teeth but he tried desperately not to let Roy hear it, as he knew it would only make the man he loved feel worse. All he did was nod a little when Roy said he was going to call a doctor; after being moved he felt just about ready to pass out and knew talking wouldn't do much to help.

After a moment, Roy's words gently caressed his ears, soothing him with a promise of someone come to take away the pain and shame of what had happened, "The doctor will be here soon, Jean. I swear, that monster will get what he has coming, he will pay for this. I just need you to hold on, we will make you better." Letting his bruised and battered body sink gratefully into his raven haired lover's firm and protective hold, Jean finally started to breathe a little better; after all, Roy Mustang always kept his promises, and Jean knew that this would be no exception.

"I will make things right." The petite hand stroking his hair felt good, even though somewhere in the back of his mind it reminded him of being petted like a dog and the words the owner of that hand spoke felt even better, "We will fix this, Jean. We will heal you, and we will fix this. Kimbley won't get away with hurting me and the people I love anymore."


	7. To Make the Right Choice

The doctor came quickly – of course he did, when the Flame Alchemist called you, you moved your ass. He knew better to waste time asking what had happened; Mustang would fill him in on what he needed to know as he worked. When he dropped to his knees beside the couch to immediately start inspecting Havoc's broken leg, Roy spoke, "On top of his leg, he also has extreme cuts and bruises all over his chest, stomach, hips, sides and back. He needs to be taken to a hospital, as I'm sure you're aware."

The answer was instantaneous, "Of course. I'm assuming you called me so we could attempt to stabilize his leg before moving him." He was quick and concise with his words, knowing any added flourishes would only serve to annoy the man before him. When Roy nodded his agreement and then added that he also wanted him to clean and care for Jean's numerous cuts and bruises, the man set to it with a will, using a few items from his bag and Roy's help to fashion a rudimentary but workable temporary sling to hold Havoc's leg still while they transported him and disinfect and bandage the clotting gouges in his skin.

Roy spoke softly in Havoc's ear the whole while, trying to comfort him and keep him calm. While it was true that no one knew they were in a relationship except the two of them, it was common knowledge that they shared an apartment – two bachelor men living together wasn't that out of the ordinary. Sure, a few eyebrows had come up when it came out, after all Havoc is Roy's direct subordinate and that made a few people think he was playing favorites with those under his command, but those who mattered knew he wasn't.

When the doctor had finally deemed Havoc safe to move, Roy got up, pulling his car around to the front of the apartment, as close to his lover as he could get it. It would be easier, he knew, to call an ambulance, but the less attention he could attract the better. So, it was with the doctor's help and a lot of painful but concealed grunts from Havoc that they carried him out the door and down the stairs, sliding him gently into the back seat of the car when they got him there.

As he turned to the doctor Roy extended his hand, thanking him for coming and doing what he did. When the man nodded his acceptance, the Flame Alchemist got into his car without further ado and took off, getting his lover to the hospital as quickly and gently as he could. Once they got there, things went quickly, just as they had done with the doctor – you do not mess with Roy Mustang, no matter who you are. Once Havoc was situated in a hospital bed and given some drugs for the pain, Roy took his seat beside him and carefully intertwined his fingers with the other man's, "You're safe now and I'm going to make sure you stay that way."

"I know," the answer was brief, but Roy knew it was because the drugs in Havoc's system were making him drowsy on top of the pain he was already dealing with. When a few extra words came a moment after, Roy had to stop himself from getting a little choked up. Even after everything that had happened… "I trust you." He would make this up to Jean, he would find some way, somehow, to make this better, no matter what it took. Kimbley would pay.

But the time they had alone was miniscule; the nurses and doctors were in and out of the room and surrounding his bedside so much that Roy could barely even see Jean, much less talk to him. When they finally got a brief respite from the hustle and bustle, Roy leaned in, quickly kissing Jean's lips before anyone could see, "They've got some work to do to you, and you need to sleep."

He gently ran his fingers through the younger man's two toned blond hair, massaging his temples gently as he did, "The rest will do your body good while they heal you. Go to sleep, Jean… let your body heal." Still stroking his temples, Roy murmured to Jean in the most soothing voice he possessed, "Everything's going to be ok, I'm going to make this better, I promise." As he watched his lover slowly fade into the realms of slumber, where he hoped that his life would be more peaceful that it was outside of that gentle place, Roy whispered, "I'm going to go out, and I'm going to sniff until I find him; this isn't over and it won't be until I've put him where he belongs."

Havoc could barely understand Roy's words any more now. He was so close to sleep that everything sounded fuzzy, but he nodded anyway, knowing Roy had his best interests at heart. So, when his eyes finally slid shut, he didn't know that Roy had told him he was going out to find Kimbley now. But for the moment at least, that was okay. What he didn't know… it wouldn't hurt him. Right?

Roy watched his lover sleep for a moment, then turned as the doctor came back in. "I have errands to run, but I will be back to check on him often. Make sure he is taken care of, understand me?" When the medical man nodded his agreement, Roy turned on his heel and left, already planning on who and where he could go to in order to discover just where it is Kimbley is hiding.

--

He had laid his trap so well… Watching from behind a peephole, Kimbley smirked as one of his old bartending buddies told Roy exactly what he wanted to hear: yes, she had heard from the criminal, but since he had been convicted she'd wanted nothing to do with him. But of course, for the handsome colonel, well… she'd tell him where he'd headed off to, of course. Kimbley's smirk grew as Roy fell hook, line, and sinker for the bait – when nightfall came he'd meet the pretty little Flame Alchemist on his own terms and have the talk he's been waiting to have for years.

--

There was something fishy about the girl and her responses to her questions; she was so willing, so compliant, so ready with her answers… it was almost like she'd expected him. And maybe she had, he had no way of making sure what she told him was the truth, but he had no other choice that to accept what she said and try to work with it – all his leads had lead him to her and there was no other option left to him.

So it was with a cloak of heavy suspicion and heightened senses that he walked into a shady bar late that night, wondering exactly what it was he would be faced with. His hand was already in his glove and tucked into a pocket but sometimes he had to wonder if that would be enough. Kimbley knew him so well, had learned so much about him from the time they shared in Ishbal, it was disconcerting and Roy wasn't sure if he'd changed enough to be unpredictable.

Maneuvering deftly through the bar, his eyes took in every creature within range. These images only occupied a small space in his brain though as the rest of his thoughts were consumed by Jean. He'd gone to see him every two hours, all day, and even though he knew his lover was well on the way to recovery there was still that one part of his mind that refused to let go of the image of Jean sprawled on the floor and covered in blood, so still he looked like he was dead.

Roy wasn't paying attention like he usually would have, wasn't focused on the task as hand as much as he should have been. When he took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink to nurse in order to make it looked like he fit in, he spent the next few minutes staring into the amber liquid, still thinking about what could have befallen Jean and how it would have been his fault.

Getting mixed up with Kimbley… it had been stupid from the start. Stupid from the first day in Ishbal when he'd sat on the other man's cot and just spilled his guts out; how he hated the war, how he felt sick every time he killed, how he though he wouldn't be able to go on… He needed comfort the and his tent mate, the fellow state alchemist who was wrapped up in this utter genocide too, he seemed like the perfect choice. But no – Kimbley reveled in the war, he drew energy from it, every soul he killed thrilled him… Kimbley was a bad choice from the beginning.

Smirking, Kimbley slid into the seat beside Roy, taking his untouched shot and throwing it down his throat, smirking wider as Roy's eyes shot up to look at him, "Well well, fancy meeting you here."


End file.
